TITLE: Choices Cost - Chapter 07 - To be or Not to be

NAME: Mik

E-MAIL: ccmcdoc@hotmail.com

CATEGORY: SRA

RATING: NC-17. M/Sk. This story contains slash i.e. m/m sex. So, if you don't like that type of thing – STOP NOW! Forewarned is forearmed. Proceed with caution. Of course if you have four arms you can throw caution to the wind.

SUMMARY: Skinner gives Mulder a whole new definition for letters to Santa.

ARCHIVE: Anywhere as long as my name and addy stay attached.

FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist...

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: This is an AU, very vague spoilers for multiple episodes, nothing current.

KEYWORDS: story slash angst Skinner Mulder NC-17

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. I'd rather say that they really are mine, but I've been advised to deny everything.

Author's note: I want to ride my bicycle … I want to ride my bike … Queen

If you like this, there's more at https://www.squidge.org/3wstop

If you didn't like it, come see me, anyway. Pet the dog.

Choices Cost – Chapter 07 – To be or Not to be

by Mik

I woke with a start. Nothing unusual for me. I usually wake up with my heart in my throat, pulse racing, in a sweat. But this particular morning, I just … woke up.

I was aware instantly that something unusual had happened, however. It was not just that the streetlight was playing on the ceiling at a different angle, or that the surface supporting my body was not hard and lumpy, or that I was wearing nothing but a tee shirt. No, what struck me was that I had made a life altering decision and then slept. Really slept. As if I had been waiting my whole life to get to this place, and now I could relax.

I turned slowly, so as not to wake my life altering decision, and considered him in that hint of daylight. He looked like my boss, asleep. Okay, I know that sounds obvious, but you know how people always say that you look younger or at peace or something when you're asleep? The implication being that we lose the ability to hold up those masks we must wear day to day and we must just be ourselves, whoever that might be. Not him. He looked exactly the same asleep. Strong, decided, in command. It was comforting and at the same time, disconcerting.

As I watched him, he shifted, sighed, rolled toward me, his hand coming to cup my hip as if he just expected me to be there. His hand was warm, heavy and firm against me. It felt good. It felt as if I was claimed, owned, loved. I didn't even want to breathe and risk breaking the moment.

Movies are so unfair. In the movies, the two lovers have an epiphany, the magic moment when their love is realized and defined, usually to a crescendo of music and then a fade to black. Nothing else matters. But this wasn't the movies, and try as I might to lie still and bask in the enormity of the situation, my bladder said I had to move. With a muffled groan, I eased his hand away from me and sat up. Glancing over, I saw his glasses, neatly folded on the bedside table.

Then I had an epiphany. Shit, I was in bed with my boss. Even if one of us was a woman, it was an incredible breach of protocol, to say the least. But the fact that we were two men...oh, hell, just back us up against the wall, offer us a blindfold and shoot our careers to oblivion.

"Where are you going, Mulder?" he mumbled as I scooted off the bed faster than a cockroach when the kitchen light goes on.

"Ummm..." I swallowed and flicked a thumb over my shoulder. "I really should...um...you know, get going."

"It's Saturday, Mulder." Even in sleep his voice was a bear-like growl. "You don't need to go anywhere."

"Well, yeah, I've got..." Oh, come on, couldn't I at least have a lawn to mow, or grocery shopping to do or something that everyone else does on Saturday mornings?

He shifted and buried his face in my pillow, but I could still hear him when he said, "You don't need to go anywhere."

Well, I guess that settles that. "How about the bathroom?" I suggested weakly. "I really need to go to the bathroom."

He lifted his head and blinked at me. "Mulder?"

I was backing toward the door. "Yessssssir?"

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing." I tried a little grin. "Just nature calling. Urgently," I added for effect.

He rolled onto his back. Muscles rippled deliciously over his body. Yeah, I said deliciously. My mouth watered. "I'll make us some coffee." With one fluid motion he was up and striding across the room, naked.

I think I started to shake. I wanted him. I wasn't exactly sure what I wanted other than to make some intimately physical connection with him. "Yeah," I said when he had draped himself in a long terry robe. "That sounds good."

He turned and reached down, giving my balls a little tweak, where they appeared beneath the hem of my tee. "Good look for you, Mulder." He winked as he turned away.

Oh, great. I'm supposed to urinate now? How?

********************************************

When I stumbled downstairs, tucking my shirt into my jeans, he was bustling around the kitchen. Something was being done to coffee beans in a massive copper and enameled creation, and whatever was going on in there, my nose told me those beans had not died in vain. He was doing something in a bowl. And a pan. And the stove. Hey, did you know there's fire in those things? I thought it was storage space. "Smells good," I told him, not really certain what else could be said.

"It is." He looked over his shoulder at me. "Sit."

I dropped into a chair. "Yes, Sir."

"Don't call me 'Sir'," he said. It wasn't quite a command. "How do you like your eggs?"

"Preferably from chickens." Oh, shut up, Mulder. You always get smartass when you're nervous.

He shifted just enough to give me a quick but thorough study. "Will you relax, Mulder?"

"I am relaxed," I protested, and damn it if my voice didn't squeak when I said that. "I like my eggs cooked all the way through. Not runny." I stood. "Beyond that, I don't care." I risked moving closer, peering into the pan. Well, that's what he thought I was doing. I really just wanted to get closer.

Maybe he knew what I really wanted. He leaned back just a bit. "Scrambled all right? I always break the yolks, anyway, when I try to flip them over."

"Scrambled is fine," I mumbled mindlessly. He smelled so good. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and pull him against me. I felt very illicit standing there, sneaking whiffs of his undeniably masculine scent. Even as I reveled in the heat of him so close to me, I know I had an ear cocked for the sound of the door being kicked down, the shouts and badges and cameras and shame. I backed away. "I can't … we can't do this." I shook my head and blinked back what just might have been tears.

He frowned at me, put the spoon down and turned, catching me by the shoulders just before I got completely out of his reach. "What do you mean, we can't do this?"

Even as I was babbling out some nonsensical explanation for our nonsensical behavior, he was urging me back into a chair. Then he knelt in front of me, his hands on my arms, holding me in place with the touch of his fingers. For a moment, he seemed to struggle with words. "Mulder...was I wrong...don't you feel anything for me?"

Oh, the sound of potential anguish in his voice. I shook my head. "No, you're not wrong." Feel something for you? Mr. A.D., Sir, you have no idea. "But this...we can't do this."

"Why?"

"Why?" I arched a brow at him. How the hell did you rise the ranks in the Bureau and still remain so thick? "Skinner, we're two men. We work for the EFFF BEEE EYE."

He nodded. And waited.

"Don't you get it?" I demanded, exasperated. "We're committing professional suicide."

"And when did that ever bother you before?" Something in his eyes dimmed, his hands moved, he backed away and stood. "Tell the truth, Mulder. This isn't about the Bureau. This isn't about being gay. This is about you and me. You don't want me."

"I don't...I...gay?"

He gave me a sour smile. "What did you think you were, Mulder?"

"I don't..." I frowned at the floor, feeling like six feet two inches of fool. "I guess I hadn't thought about it."

He shook his head. "Why am I not at all surprised?"

"Okay." I drew a deep breath. "Homosexual means being attracted to the same sex as yourself. Based on my limited research, you and I are the same sex. I am very definitely attracted to you. I guess that makes me gay." Something astounding occurred to me. I know I gaped as I looked up at him. "Does that mean...are you gay?"

He gave me a standard issue I-don't-believe-you-asked-me-that stare and growled, "Don't ask stupid questions, Mulder."

"But you were married." I know how stupid it sounds, but it really did come tumbling out of my mouth.

He shifted to a can-you-really-be-that-moronic-Mulder stare. "What has that got to do with it?"

"You're right. Nothing." I shook my head, trying to clear it.

He stirred at the egg mixture in the pan.

Silence hung heavy between us.

"Was it because of the war?" I asked, desperate to break the silence.

He looked over his shoulder. "The war?"

"Yeah, you know..." I stopped, fumbling again. "The..." I pointed at nothing in particular. "...Viet Nam war?"

"I know which war, Mulder." He scooped eggs onto a plate. "I just don't know what it has to do with this conversation."

"I thought, maybe...you know...far from home...no women..." I stopped, feeling smaller and more idiotic by the moment. I pulled my chair out. "I'll shut up and eat my eggs."

"Good plan," he told me, setting the plate before me.

He brought me coffee a moment later. "And for the record, I've been gay as long as I've been aware of sexuality. I tried marriage because I thought it might change me. It did not."

I risked a look at him. "Why did you want to change?"

Now it was merely a mild are-you-serious stare. "Oh, I don't know...maybe because I was a Marine. Or because I worked for the EFFF BEEE EYE."

I smiled helplessly around my coffee cup. "I'm sorry...Walter."

He shrugged and brought a cup of coffee for himself and sat. "What about you?"

"Me? Oh, well..." I decided to scrutinize myself and be brutally honest. "I haven't a clue. I never had any inclinations before. I mean, I've looked at guys before. At the gym and things like that. And I've watched some gay porn." I shook my head ruefully. "That's it." Other than weeks of obsessing on you, oh great burly Daddy-god.

He was frowning into his coffee. "You know...I've never enjoyed pornography - gay or straight. I've always wanted a relationship with the people I fantasize about, or eroticize."

"Whereas I tend to dehumanize them," I confessed. "Reduce them to their genitalia and forget them."

"Really?" He looked mildly horrified.

"Well, with porn, anyway," I said hastily, and then added, "I haven't had a lot of relationships. No successful ones." I toyed with the eggs. "Did your wife know?"

He nodded. "I had a couple of serious relationships before Sharon and I married, and I felt she had a right to know about them. I was always physically faithful to her," he added quickly. "I guess I was even emotionally faithful to her until I..." He stopped, flicked a look at me, and looked at his coffee, "until a few years ago."

I didn't have an answer to that. So I took a bite of eggs. "These are really good. Why aren't you having any?"

His brows arched in mock horror. "Are you kidding? All that cholesterol?"

"Ha ha." I took another bite. "These really are good. Walter...do you cook?"

"Some." I had a feeling his idea of some might match the rest of the world's idea of a whole lot.

I looked down at my half empty plate. I looked up at him. I was hungry, but it wasn't for eggs. "Did you...do you like the...um..." I sighed, hard. I wanted something. I wanted to know what it was all about. How it felt. Would I like it? Would I regret it? Should I stick to oral sex since it was something safe and familiar? Should I get up, run-not walk to the front door and keep going, never looking back?

"Yes, Mulder, I do."

And he can read minds. Damn it, no fair! "I've seen it in gay porn and the guy who's getting it never looks like he's having a good time."

I heard him chuckle.

"Well, they don't," I insisted defensively.

"That's because they aren't doing it right," he asserted.

"You said you'd never seen it!" I protested.

"If they're in pain, they're not doing it right." Suddenly, he leaned over and patted my wrist. "Don't worry, Mulder, it's not mandatory. Plenty of other things we can do, as you know."

I blushed. I did know. I had relived those moments in Jay and June's lodge for six weeks, the feeling of his long, smooth cock slipping in and out of my mouth, the taste of copper and salt as he flooded me, the incredible sense of power, completion and pure, giddy joy. Oh, yes, I did know.

And then...well, what about last night? I don't know what he was thinking, or if he was thinking, but what he did to me spit in the face of every oral fantasy I've ever had. He did not merely lick or suck or caress, he consumed me. Devoured me, took in more than semen, he took my whole soul. And I gave it up in a mindless, grateful paroxysm of pleasure. Was it possible to feel more?

He must have felt my confusion, desire and fear wrestling around in the mudring of my psyche because he squeezed my wrist and said softly, "Eat your eggs, Mulder."

I watched him get up and go about the process of putting his kitchen back in order. Wouldn't you know Walter Skinner wouldn't be able to tolerate dirty dishes in his sink? Despite the loose fit of that long robe, I knew the muscles and lines of the body beneath and I wanted to see it, touch it, examine it...claim it. That was it...I needed to claim it, claim him. I needed to make the statement, even between us, that I chose to love and be loved by him. The problem was I didn't know how.

I pushed my plate away. "Ummm...can I help? I'll try not to break anything."

He shook his head. "No, you're the guest."

Guest. Why did that word sting? Because it sounded temporary. Because it sounded as if I didn't belong here. Wounded, I stood, and moved toward the door. I stalled there. No, damn it, this isn't going to be like that. I turned around, reached for him, and held on until he looked at me. "I don't want to be a guest, Walter."

He continued to look at me for a long time. Just looking. Then he put the pan down, and slid his free hand up my arm. Slowly, making every hair on my body stand at attention. At the nape of my neck, his fingers clenched slightly and pulled me forward until his mouth met mine. Deep, invasive kiss. Who was claiming whom?

My arms went around him without waiting for direction from me. Worming into his robe, my fingers sought the heated, firm flesh and stroked. Our bodies came together by mutual arrangement and held fast. His tongue petted its way through my mouth while my hands explored his back, hips, cheeks. I wanted him. I didn't know how, but somehow I needed him. I just wanted mutual nakedness and total body to body contact.

I have no memory of leaving that spot but I found myself on the floor of his living room, my shirt gone, my jeans open, one of his bear-like arms around my shoulders holding me in place while his free hand pulled and rubbed between my legs. I was speaking in tongues at that point, wild, desperate promises never made on this or any other planet.

I was clinging to him, breathing hard into his neck while he licked over my throat and chest. I could feel him pressed against my thigh, even through my jeans the pre-cum pooling there was hot and copious. "Please," I panted. "Please."

He lifted his head and looked down into my eyes, hell, into that vacant pool that once held my soul. "What do you want, lover?" he asked with incredible tenderness.

Llllllover. Oh God. "I don't care...just please."

His smile was almost triumphant. He released me to scoot down and tug my jeans off, fling them across the room and then nudged my legs apart. His tongue was hot and wet as it worked up the inside of my thigh and then flicked across my balls.

I nearly arched up off the floor. "Oh, shit, Walter."

He chuckled as his tongue worked to collect the head of my cock. I felt it all the way down inside me. Oh, that's my new goal in life: to lie still and make Walter S. Skinner laugh while I'm in his mouth.

What he did to me...and I'm not sure yet I remember it all, made an odd clenching feeling in parts of my anatomy that I had heretofore not considered particularly sexual. I admit it, I was curious. Scared, but curious. "H-how long has it been, Walter?" I gasped.

He lifted his head and turned slightly to look at the clock on the mantel. "Less than twelve hours." He resumed the pumping action, making soft wet sounds that pierced me.

"No." I was moaning, trying to lie still and not to writhe. "I mean, since you..."

"Oh." He released me, and frowned, his fingers replacing his lips as he thought about it. "Probably twenty years." He slipped his finger into his mouth and sucked a moment. "But it's like riding a bicycle. You never really forget how." He drew me back into his mouth and began to suck...hard. His hands worked under me to spread my cheeks and I felt that wet finger working its way slowly inside me.

Ohhhhhhshitttt. That probing digit sealed my fate. I squirmed out of his mouth and pulled free, panting.

He raised his head, looking anxious. "Did I hurt you?"

I shook my head. "No." I tried to smile.

It took him a moment. He frowned at me. "I don't know, Mulder. Are you sure?"

I leaned up and kissed his mouth. "Just roll me over and call me Schwinn."

- END chapter 07 -